A Cinderella Story: Maximum Ride Version
by Velevet Night
Summary: A more modern version of Cinderella, but I twisted the plot a little. I'm pretty bad at summary's. Fax.
1. Chapter One

**Important: Please read the second AN at the end of this chapters. Thanks!**

**I re-did this first chapter; I hope you guys like it. It's not very meaningful, just a chapter to start the story rolling. Having said that, I love any advice or comments you have to give me, so please Review!**

**Max uses 'bad' language in this story. Not overly much, just some here or there. It doesn't bother me in the slightest, but some people may be against it. For those of you who are, this is just a notificiation. n_n**

**I can't rightfully say the chapters will all be this long; most will probably be shorter, but I'll see what I can do.**

**For those of you who asked for this;**

**Max's Outfit- .com/cgi/set?id=25308929  
C/P that into the adress bar. If it doesn't work, PM me or drop me a review and I'll fix it.  
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**Disclaimer: Do ya'll _really_ think I'm JP? _Really?_**

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Max POV

Allow me to tell you that my day started off worse than awful.

I was woken up at around 4 AM, the standard time that I wake up these days. I dragged myself out of bed, groaning, carefully avoiding the crap littering the floor of my room. I barley had time to finish all the other chores while doing my homework _and_sustaining a job. Don't expect me to have a lot of free time to clean my room.

For those of you who are standing to the side with your face screwed up into a 'what in the name of hell is that girl talking about' expression on your face- first off, that's not attractive at all. Second, I'm a maid.

After a lot of thought, I decided that the person who invented the maid is a idiot. I'd like to know who, exactly, invented the 'house maid', so that I can go and find them and then ask them exactly_ what _they were thinking, exactly_ why _they hated me, and then hack them apart with a machete.

Not necessarily in that order, either.

I carefully dodged around the empty shampoo bottles littering my bathroom (man, I need to take out the recycling in here) and made my way over to the shower. I turned it on and waited impatiently for the water to heat up, tapping my foot and glancing at the clock so often it probably looked like I had a spasm in my neck.

My name is Maximum Ride. Max for short. Maximum is just to much of a mouthful, and sounds to formal for me, anyways. Plus, I got tired of hearing the sex jokes. "Maximum Ride… I bet she is."

… And my fist started to hurt from all the punches I gave off.

The Twins, my half-sisters, Ella and Lissa, are both fourteen and are like miniature versions of my step-mom, a lady that I love to loathe. One term to describe our relationship could be slave driver and slave. Bet you can guess which job I get in that nifty little phrase- and, for you morons who don't get it, I get the short end of the stick.

The water heated up, and I quickly undressed and stepped into the shower. I quickly washed my hair, and stood there for a few minutes, allowing the hot water relax my muscles. I breathed in deeply, enjoying the only relaxing part of my day. Not kidding; even sleep was uncomfortable. My bed was to small, so I was cramped in a small, tight space for a while.

I'm sure that you're really lost at this point, and if you aren't, good for you. For those of you who are still making that oh-so-attractive face in the corner over there, I'll sum this up for you. I'm the family maid. I do pretty much everything that my _dearest _mother and sisters wish. The only thing that _I_ get out of this arrangement is pretty much anything that I want- not because my step-mom gives it to me or anything nice and kind like that, but because I do the bills, and, therefore, nobody will ever notice if I buy something.

Now that I think , that sentence sounds a bit bratty. " All I get is Whatever I want." Before you start thinking that I'm some rich snob, let me tell you that I slave away every day, generally rubbing my hands raw, and I don't get the least bit of gratitude or sympathy. Not from my family, not from my friends. My family because they're rich, stuck up snobs. My friends because I don't have any.

I gave a quiet, long sigh and stepped out of the water. I grabbed a towel and put it on my head like a turban so the water from my soaking wet hair wouldn't drip down my back. I took another towel for my body, and quickly dried myself off and looked over at the weather report I got daily on my phone. Since it was supposed to be around 60 today, and sunny, I grabbed a pair of lace-up combat boots, some shorts, and a long sleeved grey striped shirt and threw them on, grabbing my shades as I literally ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

The only reason I got dubbed as maid is because I wasn't- and I quote- "Girly and proper enough to fit into modern society." And, again, I quote, "I'm doing you a favor, Maxine. (She still doesn't understand that my name is Maximum- apparently my birth certificate is wrong, and she is infinitely smarter than the doctors who wrote my name. I'm sure the only thing she's ever written is her signature on her credit card receipts at the mall.) You should embrace your only chance in the world."

To further impose her point, I am not allowed to eat at the table with them. I have to go to my room- if it could even be called a room. It's a walk in closet, but it's totally tricked out, thanks to the bills that I pay every month. Even though I cook the dinner that they eat, I still can't sit with them because of some stupid reason that I won't bother to explain for the sake of our sanity.

Regardless of my mom and sisters crazy ideas, there was _one _thing that we all agreed upon. Neither of us wanted to be seen in public together; I was fine with that- more than fine, really. Overjoyed is more like it. I didn't want to be seen with a snobby family like them, and they didn't want to be seen with a girl who didn't like to shop or wear dresses or paint her nails and squeal over 'How absolutely totally hot Tay Tay Lautners abs are!"

I quickly put two waffles into the toaster and pushed the button down so that they could cook. I then ran up the stairs to a room full of only clothes- Ella and Lissas closet. I randomly chose two carefully hung bags, which I had filled myself.

Since I have to do this every morning, I put the outfits into bags: Each bag had a purse, some other item, either a dress or a pair of pants/shirt/skirt, and some shoes, generally heels.

I ran to the bathroom and put the bags on the counter, not bothering to label them. As soon as I set them down, I ran back downstairs and grabbed the slightly burnt waffles out of the toaster, setting them on clean blue plates. I filled two glasses with milk and set them next the plates.

I then sprinted back up the stairs (and people wonder why I'm so fit. Heh.) and grabbed my mom's outfit. My mom, being the evil bitch she is, makes me chose, hand iron, hand wash, and lay out her clothes for her. I wash and chose them at night, and I iron and lay them out in the mornings. Now it was time to iron them; I was running late. I woke up at four, took around an hour to get ready, and now the clock was approaching five thirty. My mother gets up a 5:45, my sisters at six. Before I can leave for school, I need to clean their bathrooms, and clean their dirty dishes (not to mention the kitchen counter).

I finished ironing the clothes and sped my way back up the stairs to my mothers private bathroom. I hung them nicely on a hook, started the water for her, and then practically fell down the stairs.

I then started to make _my_ breakfast, which was horribly simple. I grabbed two granola bars and a bottle of vitamin water. As I devoured my meal, I jogged outside and grabbed the mail. It took me a few minutes of hunting for the mailbox to get it, though, because we were new in this town -and also because our mailbox was mostly hidden in-between two bushes; whos stupid idea was that, anyways?

After I successfully found the mailbox and took the mail inside, placing it in a nice heap on the sparkling clean counter (courtesy of yours truly) I collapsed onto the oh-so-inviting couch in the living room. Deep breath in, out. In, out. It's peaceful, right now. Zen. I'm chill I'm-

"Maxine!" The high pitched, snarky voice could only belong to one person; my mother. "Get over here!" The voice grew in volume as the owner of the annoying, nasally thing became more and more impatient. "Now!"

Instantly, I was up off of the couch, jogging my way over to the stairs for the, what, twentieth time today? "I'm coming!" I yelled back at her, trying not the trip on the oddly small stairs in my haste to reach her. As soon as I walked into her room, I was assaulted with the sickening strong smell of perfume and makeup.

I puked a little in my mouth, using all my will not to gag and rush right back out. The woman I call my mother was sitting in a plush, and very pink, armchair, examining her numerous-times-over-botoxed face with some bedazzeled mirror. In her hand, she help two pairs of earings. Internally, I groaned.

"Maxine, dear, which earings do you like best on mummy?" Her fake British accent was –possibly- the most annoying thing about her. You don't know how many times I've had to explain to people that, no, my mother is not British, she just acts like it for who the hell knows why.

"Really, Maxine, I need to know." She put one on each of her ears. I snorted quietly; one was gaudy and featherly, resembling a cat toy. The other was as bright, luminescent green, resembling something that had a recent encounter with radioactive sludge.

Stifling my giggles, I pointed to the green one. "That one is…. Very flattering." Or it would be, if you repainted it, burned it, and stomped on it's grave.

Nodding, my mother flicked her fingers at me. "Go."

I clenched my fists and ground my teeth, but turned sharply on my heel and left, stomping down the stairs. I hated that, when she treated me like I was worthless. I was equal to her, at the very least.

With a groan, I thundered out of the house and onto my bike. Screw cleaning the bathrooms and kitchen, I'll do those when I get home.

When I had time.

_If_ I had time.

When I say bike, I mean Motorcycle, It's the one thing my mother bought for me- she didn't want me polluting her air with my presence, so I have to drive myself everywhere. I'm most definitely breaking the speed limit towards the new school; who needs rules when there aren't any cars on the street but you? This is the third new school this year, and the reason we moved is possibly the stupidest ever. My sisters found a better mall in this town than in our old one.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

A new school generally means a new start, or, at least, it does for all of those positive kids who have what they want and _don't_, in fact, have to work 24/7 so that they won't get kicked out of their homes. For me, however, it's just a new chance to see how many times the principal can call home to talk to my smother before he realizes that she _really_ doesn't give one teeny tiny shit about my well being. The only good part about the new schools, in my opinion, was the change. I'm a person who can't stand to stay put for long periods of time, so I guess you could call me familys stupidity (in this instance) A good thing.

The school doesn't seem all to nice- or, maybe it's the fact that it looks a little bit _too_ nice that makes it look a bit more imposing than a school painted a bright, ugly yellow should. There are large stairs that lead up to a very large, very bright yellow building. I swear that if someone dropped some mustard on this place, you would think it was just a glob of paint.

There are only a few windows, and I would bet my entire salary for a year that the window were purposely arranged in the shape of a happy face. An arch in front of the stairs said "Welcome to Yenly Preparatory School- Have a Great Day!" In bold, curly letters, which didn't help my apprehension of the place of entering the huge block of I don't even.

The perfectly groomed trees and shrubs around it didn't make me like the place any more than I did; which, at the moment, was several thousand points below zero. There were two courtyards off to each side of the school, both of which consisted of a few square planters, which you could sit on. There were trees in the middle, and a shaded gazebo area with around 7 benches spread evenly around. I could faintly make out a forum in the back, painted the same horrible shade of yellow as the school.

I was already late to class- my sisters, being younger than I, started later in the day. Since my entire night had been occupied by filling out tranfer forms for my sisters and I to a gym, scrumming the mold off of the outside of the house, and cleaning my room until I could faintly see a floor, I didn't get much sleep. Right now, missing first period in favor of getting a little bit of sleep didn't seem to be such a bad idea.

As I started walking towards the shaded gazebo, hoping that nobody would be their to distract me from my nap, a guy on a motorcycle pulled into the spot right next to mine with a squeal, narrowly missing me.

"Yo, watch it!" I snapped, turning my body to face him, hands clenched into fists already. What can I say, I already got angry really easily. A tired and cranky Max is even worse than normal and cranky Max.

"Sorry 'bout that. Hey, from one guy to another, you should really cut your hair- you like a girl." I snorted at this- did I really look that much like a guy? I have boobs, for the love of god! I looked down at myself and mentally facepalmed; I had worn a large jacket, (a mens one, no less. Hey, they're comfy!) as I rushed out- no wonder he though I was a guy, I was tall, had no chest in the sweater, and had a motorcycle. Although the last one is sexist to an annoying amount, it's a reason. "Wow- nice bike! What model?" While the guy fawned over my bike, I took in his appearance. He had blond hair that was spiked up with a liberal amount of gel, and was dyed black on the tips of the spikes. He was pale, but not zombie pale. There was one earring in his left ear- on some guys it would look gangster or punk, but on this guy it didn't look all that bad. Actually, if I'm being honest, it looked pretty good.

Then I took in _my_ appearance again; Did I really look that boyish? I mentally shrugged; I didn't really care either way. And as amusing as it was to watch him circle gleefully around my bike, muttering phrases such as 'oh man, oh man" and "sweeeett ride" or "Holy mother of god this bike is a thing made from heaven" I felt that, from 'one guy to another', I should probably tell him I was a girl.

"I'm a girl, you douche." I told him while walking away toward a break in one of the hedge walls that looked good for a nap. "And don't touch my bike. I just cleaned it, and I don't want fingerprints all over it." I called back to him over my shoulder, taking off my jacket due to the sudden heat that beat down upon my back as I stepped out of the shade.

The guy, however, jogged up next to me. He looked me over, surprise blatantly written on his face. After a second, falling in step with me, he spoke. "Are you new here?"

"Yes, and I'm _trying_ to find a place to get some sleep. I had a late night…" I trailed off, hoping he'd take the hint and leave me alone. Like most people I've met, he didn't.

"Where are you going?" He was watching me, a curious expression replacing the surprise.

"Somewhere where it's _quiet_." I said, pointedly glaring at him, putting stress on the word 'quiet' hoping that this time he'd get my oh-so-obvious hint.

"So, just to clarify, your ditching your _first_ day at your _new_ school?" Shocked, maybe a little amazed. I snorted, kicking a rock with my foot as I stepped over the curb of the parking lot and onto the neatly trimmed grass of the field. I pulled a face; trimmed grass always annoyed me. I love the tall grass, the untamed grass, that you could lay in for hours and not be seen unless someone looks down on you.

"No, I'm just walking away from the school because I intend to magically teleport to it. No shit I'm ditching, Sherlock." Stupid people. I wonder what he'd do if I punched him.

"Wow." Said the guy, staring at me in a way that made me feel like an experiment. "You're sure you're a girl?"

"Yes! And wow what? And who are you?" This guy was starting to tick me off- majorly. I stopped, whirled to face him, and crossed my arms, glaring at him. And belive me, my glare is pretty intense.

"Well, I haven't seen anyone that would fit in with us this well since Fang came, and that was, like, a year and a half ago. I'm Iggy." He hastily stuck out a hand, hoping to difer from my glare.

Iggy and… Fang. Interesting names. "Max. And fit in with who?" I said, staring pointedly at his hand until he took it away- I wasn't here to make friends, and I didn't need nor want any.

"Our group." Said Iggy, nodding towards the crack in the hedge that we were heading to. "We convene our meetings in there- when we have them, that is. Then we just ditch the whole day. But today were only ditching first and second period, because there's a test later. You should hang with us. I can tell already- your one of us."

I hesitated. "Sorry, no." I turned away, walking away towards the quiet hedge in the back of the school. The guy gave a snort, muttered something, then called, "See you around!" before I heard is soft footfalls patting away at an even pace.

I walked my way to the back of the school, thankfully encountering nobody, I thought about his offer again. For a second, and only a second, I believed that maybe I _should've _ gone with him, seen what was there.

I shoved that thought out of my head- Like I said, I wasn't here to make friends.

Fang POV:

As Iggy walked into the enclosure, I could tell something had happened. His brow was furrowed, deep lines etched into his forehead as he shuffled forwards in concentration. He seemed, after a minute, to notice me there. He glanced over at me, nodded his head once in greeting, and then sat down and continued to brood.

"What's up, Ig?" My voice came out quietly, a natural thing for me. "And Angel, Nudge, and Gasser had a field trip or something to go to." He nodded absently before glancing up at me a few minutes later.

"I found this girl, man. She'd be perfect for us –our group- and she just blew me off." He laughed, breezy, stunned. "Don't most people want to make friends, Fang?"

I glanced over at him, a slight crinkle of my nose indicating that I was thinking. "I suppose." I shrugged, not really caring. "If she didn't want to be in our group, leave it." Short, blunt. Iggy had a tendency to try and befriend those that didn't want it. Like me, for instance.

He sighed, still out of it. "Still. Something there just doesn't seem… right." I shrugged again, not one for words. After a minute he sighed, and we lapsed into a comfortable silence, him probably thinking about the girl. After a second, I nodded slightly, agreeing with myself; That girl was in for a surprise if and when Iggy decided to befriend her.

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**If you find any grammar errors or such, drop me a line so I can fix them n_n**

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Preferentially someone who'd like to/be willing to discuss plot ideas with me, and who isn't afraid to be blunt. If you're interested, please PM me.**

**Thanks for those who read, a double thanks for those who R&R.**

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	2. Chapter Two

**Thanks to Death Cab for Cutie for being my musical inspiration for this chapter.**

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Max POV

I hadn't had high hopes for Yenley Preparatory School (better named 'Yellow' Preparatory School, since it looked as if a lemon tree had puked on the place. Seriously, they needed a new color-scheme designer.) with it's overly- happy façade and smiley-face windows. Suffice to say, I hadn't been far off the mark.

As you enter the place, it's more of the same disgusting yellow color that the outside of the place was. It's everywhere- the floor, the ceiling, even on the smiling lady who greets me as I shove open the door with my knee. I cover my yawn with my hand as the lady approaches, her heels clacking happily on the floor. My book-bag is slung over my shoulder and bounces against my hip as I give her a non-committal wave in response to her beaming smile. I attempt to slide by her without having to be stopped and roped into a conversation with Mrs. Smiley, but no such luck ever occurs in the life of Maxium Ride.

"Hello!" I internally groan; her voice sounds as if she's four, high-pitched and innocent. "You must be Maxine Ride!" I could visibly _see _the exclamation marks after all her sentences. Does that give off a warning signal to anyone else, or no?

"_Maximum_ Ride, actually." I stared her down until she looked away and fidgeted with the hem of her bright-yellow skirt. "Not Maxine, _Maximum."_ I allowed myself a small smile before I went back to my carefully composed bored expression. "Did you need something? Not that I'm not enjoying this little chat, but I need to get to class." To hell with that- I just wanted to get away from this lady. She was seriously starting to scare me, and that's saying something.

"Oh- well, in that case, I'll make this quick." The lady looked back at me and beamed, her smile even bigger than before. She clapped her hands, and then exclaimed, with so much emotion that I almost fainted, "Welcome to Yenly Preparatory School! As long as you study hard, don't slack, and make sure that school is your top-priority, you will be going places along with the rest of your class!" God, the woman sounded like a tape recorder. I'm sure she memorized and gave this speech to every new student. "If you help us, then we can help you! Yenly is based on a give and take theory, where students and teachers alike both learn and teach the other! Here at Yenly, Students and Teachers go by a last name basis, and Teachers and Students alike are all friends!" Giving a soft snort, I ignored the rest of her speech and looked around.

The hallway was decorated with sports trophies; apparently, Yenly had many star athletes and loved to show that off. The cabinet that the trophies were in was a dull gray, a deep contrast to the rest of the shockingly yellow hallway. The floor was a checkered carpet, the two colors being, you guessed it, yellow and gray. I had, without a doubt, already had enough of this place, and I had been here barely ten minutes. Did I mention that I hate yellow?

The lady shoved a piece of paper at me, and she announced, "Your life begins now, and make it a good one! You know it will be, as long as you stick to Yenly!" The last word had a singsong lilt to it. It was practically a jingle, a little catch-phrase. I swear, if it's stuck in my head all day, I'm going to be fit to kill.

I took my schedule and all but ran out of the place, giving an absent wave behind me as I started down the disgustingly yellow colored hallway. My schedule told me that I was headed for room 201, for Biology. As I wandered around looking for room 201 in the midst of all the rooms, I glanced down at the rest of my schedule.

**Period 1: Art  
Teacher: Mr. Marcus Andrews  
Room: 198**

**Period 2: Biology  
Teacher: Mr. Jacob Henry  
Room: 201**

**BREAK**

**Period 3: Physical Education  
Teacher: Mrs. Emily Petterson  
Room: Gym**

**Period 4: Geometry  
Teacher: Mr. Adam Crochet  
Room: 107**

**LUNCH**

**Period 5: History  
Teacher: Mrs. Jodie Park  
Room: 185**

**Period 6: Cooking  
Teacher: Mrs. Mercedes Jenson  
Room: 203**

Since I came late, I was going to assume that I was going straight to period two, having skipped period one entirely. My classes seemed alright, except for cooking. Anyone who knows me knows I can't cook worth shit- my mom and sisters used to get mad at me for only making them microwavable (and still slightly over cooked or undercooked, at that) dinners, until they realized that I couldn't cook to save my life. All it took was ten minutes for me to set the kitchen on fire, and another ten to be barred from any kitchen utensil but the microwave. I couldn't complain- I had bad burns on my hands for weeks.

I rounded a corner, finally finding room 201. I stood outside the door for a second, contemplating. Almost scared, almost nervous. But I am Maximum Ride, I that's not how I do things. With a breath, I shoved open the door to be met with a classroom full of faces that turned to watch me. That, and one angry teacher.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me and giving a sheepish smile. "Hi, I'm Maximum Ride, I'm new here. Sorry I'm late, I got lost on my way here." Several snickers emanated from the back of the classroom, which I ignored. "I go by Max." That was mostly for the laughing idiots in the back. "And I pack a punch." The snickering stopped, and a gave a wry smile.

Max: 1

Idiots: 0

The teacher stared me down, and I stared definitely back. After a minute, though, he nodded his head at me. "You can take a seat next to, ah. . ." He paused here to look around. "Sam, yes." He pointed to a kid in the back with blue eyes and sandy hair. As I started to walk back to the kid, he called after me, "And, Ms, ah, Ride, don't make it a habit of behind late. Punctuality is demanded at Yenly. Ah, and, there will be no punching." I only nodded my head as I took my seat next to the kid he had called Sam.

As the teacher went back to his lecture, Sam nudged me with his foot, a mischievous smirk on his face. "So, are you really the maximum ride?" He thought he was being clever. Cute. I turned to face him, and gave him a look that clearly said to piss off. I was in no mood for the sexual innuendoes that this kid was obviously proposing. Sam, however, didn't seem to get my drift. "No, really, I'm curious. I mean, unless you want to let me find out for myself. . . " He winked at me. Winked!

I rounded on him. "You sexist _pig!_ Yes, I am the Maximum Ride. Keep on making those immature jokes and they'll have to send you on a 'Maximum Ride' to the hospital!" With that, I turned back in my seat to face the teacher.

Sam didn't talk to me after that- I was thankful. Beating up a stupid kid was _not _high on my list of 'things Max want's to do today' list. I wrinkled my nose in distaste; I hated school more than I could say.

When the bell rang that signified the end of the class period, I jumped out of my seat as fast as a bullet and all but ran out of the classroom. I didn't listen as they played the announcements over the speakers, instead intent upon finding the gym. It wasn't that hard, actually- it was the biggest building there. That, and it was clearly labeled 'gym' on the side, in big, gray letters.

After the bell rang to signify the start of class, I headed over to the teacher. I explained to them who I was and that I was new, and she gave me gym clothes (yellow, oh joy) and a lock for my locker.

In the locker room, I placed my lock on the locker furthest away from everyone elses, only one persons lock being next to mine. As I started to change, the girl who belonged to the lock next to mine came up. When she saw me, her brown eyes windended and she started to talk while still, somehow, getting changed. "Oh, hi! Are you new here? I think you're new here, because I haven't seen you around yet, and I know _everyone _ who goes to school here!" As she threw her stuff into her locker, she kept talking, still in the same breath. "My names Monique, but everyone calls me Nudge. I'm not sure why, though, but it's what I've always been called and it's been here for so long that nobody bothers calling me anything else. Who're you?" She paused, waiting for an answer. I recovered from my shock of her saying all of that in one breath and answered.

"Maximum Ride, but I go by Max." I pulled on my gym shoes, and started tying them. The girl, Nudge, stood next to me and kept talking, oblivious to my discomfort and unintrest.

"Ooh, Max is a nice name. I like Monique, though, because it flows." She stopped here to smile down at me. "Not That Max doesn't, I mean, but it's kinda shorter and abrupt. Max. See, it just falls off the edge of something, maybe a cliff. Of a desk or a table or something. I remember, today in class, Angel shoved my pencil off the desk so that I would have to be quiet and go pick it up because she wanted to work. And then Mr. Robins- Oh, right, names! Right, I like Monique because it's longer and it just goes so smoothly. Moniqueeee. See, isn't that pretty? I like the name-"

At this point she was cut off by a hand slamming over her mouth. The hand belonged to a tall boy with blue eyes and blonde hair that was gelled up in spikes- Iggy, the guy I had met earlier. "Nudge, don't talk her deaf, please." With that, he removed his hand, and smiled down at me. "Hi, Max."

I nodded in response, looking up at him and saying a 'hi' of my own. Thankfully, I was saved from further conversation, because the gym teacher blew her whistle and we were told to sit down and listen.

"Kids, today we run the mile." A chorus of groans came from the entire class. I happened to like running- I was actually pretty good, since I got practice almost every day. At least, when I had time. "No complaints. Now, as usual, the person who gets the fastest time will get to choose tomorrows activity. Go line up on the track, I'll be there momentarily."

Everyone got up and trotted out to the track, where I began to stretch carefully, and with precession. I'd already tired to clean bathrooms with a pulled muscle once- it was not something I planned on repeating. "So, you like to run?" Iggy, standing next to me, watching as a stretched. I nodded my head.

"Yeah, but I don't get to as often as I'd like." He looked surprised at that, maybe thinking that I wasn't going to answer him. I snorted a little, shaking my head. "I have work for a while, so I'm already pretty busy. Running just adds to that."

He nodded. "I hate running, but I do love to play basketball." He grinned at me, his eyes shining. "I'm hoping for a scholarship."

I gave a noncommittal gesture in response. "You must be good then." He shrugged a little, bashful.

"I like to think so."

The sharp sound of a whistle cut off our conversation, and the teacher was yelling at us to line up. "Hurry up, now, we haven't got all day! And you will _not _ be leaving this class until you finish the mile, and I have a time written down!" Groans could be heard through the entire class; I ignored the babbling of Nudge, who had at some point appeared next to me, and made my way to the front of the group.

"3. . .2. . . 1. . .-" Just as she was about to yell go, she cut off. "Fang, get over here!" A boy clad entirely in black, from the shoes on his feet to the hair on his head, was jogging over. He had an olive skin tone, and was definitely not wearing PE clothes.

"Sorry, coach, didn't know we were out here on the field today. " His voice was soft, but it commanded attention and respect. "I didn't bring my clothes, but I can just run in these." I snorted, loudly. He intended to run in jeans and a black shirt- good luck to him on that.

I guess he heard my snort, because he whipped his head around to look at me. Our eyes engaged in a staring contest (read: glaring contest) and I was the first to look away, going back to my stretching. "Well, get over there, then." He nodded his head, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked over right next to me. I scoffed- he had nerve, but it didn't mean I liked him. I absently noticed that the girls who he walked by would move back a bit to fawn over him- I supposed he was a jock, some sexist pig that _liked_ all the attention.

'Coach', as the boy had called it, harrumphed and went back to his whistle. "Alright, three, two, one, go!"

The whistle sounded with a high-pitched, shrill noise, and we were off. I instantly started to run fast, but not at my full speed. 'Pace, don't race'- it may be tacky, but it works.

After about a lap of this speed, I looked around to see if anyone was near me. I get so focused on what I'm doing, a bomb could explode behind me and I wouldn't notice. In fact, a bomb might've exploded, and I was in a new universe, because the boy covered in black was keeping pace with me—easily! He was looking at me, and _smirking, _ of all things. I narrowed my eyes at him and ran faster, almost at my full speed. The side of the boys mouth twitched, and he sped up to compensate, apparently with no effort.

We lapped the rest of the people, except for Iggy, who was already a good ways in front of them, but nowhere near to the boy and I. Soon, we were even passing Iggy, who's jaw dropped in a very un-attractive way. I almost yelled over at him to close his mouth, but the effort to talk would take away my speed.

I gave the boy a last, hard look before I began to sprint. My feet flew off the pavement, and then slapped right back down, with a dull _thump, thump._ Shock flickered throught the boys eyes (ha, take _that!_) before he, too, began to sprint. I was happy to see that he was having difficulty keeping up, staying slightly behind me.

Within the matter of a minute, was had passed all the people (and Iggy) once again. On our last lap, I pulled out extra speed I didn't know I had, and I went a tiny, tiny bit fast. The boy could barley keep up, and I knew I had won.

Or, I thought I knew. At the last second, and I mean the last second, he drew ahead of my by the tiniest amount, and beat me by _one second._ Can you believe it? One. Flipping. Second. I was outraged. As I bent over, panting, the coach yelled "4:34 and 4:35. Looks like you have some competition, Fang." He went back to watching as the rest of the kids trickled in. The boy, Fang, just stood there and smirked.

I blew out some hair in a huff. "Stop that!" I snapped, turning and starting to walk as Iggy came in with a 6:21. Fang followed me over to the bench where I sat down, leaning back against the tree and saying nothing. Annoyed, I snapped, "Are you mute, or what? At that, the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was going to smile.

"No." That's all he sad- no. I was enraged. I crossed my arms and leaned back, refusing to talk to him. Iggy came over after a minute, and laughed.

"I see you've met Fang. Fang, Max. Max, Fang." He nodded his head to each of us, and then said to me, "I take it you don't like to lose?"

I shook my head. "It was by one second! _One second!_" I shot Fang a look, and he put his hands into the air. I narrowed my eyes once again, and stood as the bell rang. Nodding goodbye to Iggy, I walked back to the changing rooms and changed, going to my next class, Geometry.

The rest of the day was fairly straightforward- until I got to cooking class.

The class started off all right- I went in, went to the stove, and turned it on. And that's when things started to go downhill. The teacher handed me a recipe, telling me to 'bake it by the end of the period.' I stared blankly at her; Me? Bake? Are you _trying _ to get us killed? She was serious, though, so I propped my menu up on the side of my stove. It was easy enough, just some type of cake, and I got to work cracking the eggs it required.

This was around the time I noticed Fang next to me. I blatantly ignored him, cracking my egg into the bowl in (what I thought) was the right way. Instantly, though, I hear a voice on my left. "No, no NO!" I whirled around, and there was Iggy. He swatted my hands away from the bowl, pointing to the white specks in with the eggs. "Those are eggshells. Bad. Eggshells bad. Bad Max. Bad."

I snorted, pushing him away. "At least I got them in the bowl." A scoff from my right- Fang. I flip him the bird and keep 'cooking'.

After an eventful thirty minutes, I had a cake pan in the oven. I suppose I must have turned the oven up to high, because all of a sudden my oven bursts into flames. I step back, cross my arms, and mutter "This is why I don't bake." At that, Iggy burst out laughing, and Fang smiled a small smile over in his corner.

I was excused from cooking after that.

When I got home, it was 3:15. My sisters and mom weren't due home for a while, so I had time to clean the bathrooms. I dropped my backpack off in my room, and walked up the stairs to the bathroom. It was only after I had cleaned the bathrooms and eaten an orange that I noticed the note on the front door.

* * *

_Maxine- Housewarming party tomorrow night at 8. Clean entire house by then. Make dinner. Set table. Your sisters and I have gone shopping for appropriate clothing. _

_-Mummy_

I groaned, sliding down the wall. How was I supposed to clean the entire house, that was more like a castle than anything, in a day?

* * *

**This is also on my profile- It's an explaniton, and I feel you guys deserve one n_n**

**-Sorry to the readers for not updating in any timely fashion, I have been unable to type due to something called "Repetitive Motion Syndrome" which I got from typing too much. (irony in it's best) That means that whenever I move my wrist while typing, it shoots pain through my wrist (left hand only). My tendons, also, were inflamed, causing swelling. Legit, my wrist had to remain completely un-bent until the swelling went down; typing my school papers took all the effort I had. Since the swelling is gone now, and I can move my wrist again, I'm back to typing chapters. Hopefully it won't come back at all (during the summer, or ever) but it's happened several times though the year and I can't be sure. I am not bringing my computer on my trip, but I will start to type the new chapter on my phone. **

**AND don't forget to review!**


	3. Chapter Three

**-Sorry for the long wait, everyone! Been busy with my summer programs and such, eh. Expect slow updates until school starts back up in August, because I have a program everyday (weekdays) from 10AM to 3PM for the next four weeks, and water polo training on the weekends. (Haha, ironically I'm usually faster at updating when I'm back in school - whenever I **_**really**_** don't want to do math, I'll usually type my fanfictions.)**

**-I always have two authors' notes, one at the beginning of the chapter and one at the end. I'll put my babble and response to reviews at the authors note at the end - anything to do with the story or my updates will go in the first authors note. **

**-I NEED SUGGESTIONS! What should Max lose that Fang finds later on in the story? I don't want it to be a shoe, a cell phone, or an iPod!**

**Disclaimer- (Probably should've been doing this earlier xD) I don't own any part of Maximum Ride or Cinderella.**

* * *

Max POV

I don't think anyone ever actually appreciates the amount of time, effort, and stamina it takes to clean a mansion sized house until they actually do it. Having that said, there are very few people who appreciate the amount of time, effort and stamina it takes, because there are very few people who would actually clean a mansion sized house, let alone the people who owned the place. (Because that would just be _outrageous, _wouldn't it. How dare I suggest that these people possibly clean their _own _house? Heh.)

It was 5:30PM, and I was lost. It usually took me a few days (and both the weekends, mind you) to clean the place—how was I supposed to clean the entire thing in around fifteen hours? I groaned, thunking my forehead on the beige wall of the living room.

"Shit," I muttered—now, along with my soon-to-be sleepless night, I also had a pounding headache. I trotted to the kitchen and took two aspirin, downing them with a glass of water. After cleaning my glass and placing it back in the cabinet, (because god knows I don't need anything else to clean) I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the scene in front of me. The rooms I could see from the kitchen—the dining room, the living room, and the door to a hallway—seemed pretty clean to me, but I knew my stepmom would find dirt that did not exist.

Since I had already cleaned the bathrooms, that was two less rooms to clean. I estimated that there were about . . . twenty to twenty five rooms in the whole house left to clean. (There were the three bedrooms—one for each of my sisters, and my mom—four guest bedrooms, five bathrooms, several living rooms, one kitchen, one pantry, one cellar, one dining room, one huge ballroom type deal, the recreation room, the exercise room, the spa room (not even sure why we have one of these, it's rarely used) and the front and back yard. Because I had just cleaned two of the five bathrooms, that left me with twenty three rooms to clean in twelve hours.

". . . Fuck." I cursed into the pressing silence of the kitchen, leaning against my hands on the counter. There was no way—and I mean /no/ way—that I was going to be able to finish that amount of work in that amount of time. Furrowing my brow, I walked out of the kitchen and over to a bathroom to grab my cleaning supplies.

"I suppose I could just say that I cleaned the guest bedrooms, and only dust, since nobodies been in there since I last cleaned them. And I could do the same for the other three bathrooms, but I'd have to clean the bathtub instead of dusting in each." Musing out loud to myself, I grabbed the dusting tool (I've called it that since I was five, give me a break) and literally sprinted down to the first of the four guest bedrooms. Thankfully, this one didn't have a lot of dust in it, and I would probably only have to dust the beams.

When my breath had calmed, I started my musings again as I dusted the first beam. "The living rooms have to be cleaned completely, since they're used often. The kitchen definitely has to be cleaned, but—" moving to the second beam, I groaned for the thousandth time today. "Shit, I have to make dinner, too. I'll just keep the kitchen dirty and clean it when everyone's left tomorrow."

I wiped the rag over the desk quickly, but efficiently, scraping all the dust into my rag. Shutting the door behind me, I ran down a floor to the next guest bedroom, repeating the process. "I'm sure the pantry's fine, so I'll just skip that altogether. I'll clean the front yard, not the back, but I'll do the pool in the backyard so it looks like I did. I'll have to clean the ballroom, since my stepmom will definitely want them to be hanging out in there. I'll clean the rec room if I have time. The dining room is a definite for having to be cleaned, and I'll just skip the spa room altogether." With a decisive nod of my head, I ran off to finish cleaning the bedrooms and the bathrooms.

* * *

It was four a.m., and I was falling asleep on my feet. The only things I had left to clean were the dining room, the ballroom, the pool, and the kitchen, but I doubted I would make it. I was currently cleaning the pool, scraping leaves out of it by the pound (because whose idea in the fuck was it to place the tree right above the pool? I mean, really, come on), and was thankfully almost done. With a last sweep and dump of the net, the pool was finally free of leaves from the offending tree. I trudged upstairs to go start on the ballroom, stopping for a second to lean heavily on the doorframe.

As soon as I managed to reach the ballroom, I sagged into the closest thing I could find (a nice, comfortable chair, actually). I felt my eyes fluttering close—there wasn't any harm in resting for a second, was there? After all, I was so tired . . . . yeah, just for a second . . .

* * *

"_Maxine Florence Ride!" _The high pitched, shrill, and nasally voice shocked me from my awkward position on the chair. My head was slumped down into the crook of the chair and arm, a leg and arm curled under my torso while my other leg and arm flopped onto the floor.

Two other voices, louder and shriller, if possible, started up

"_Maxineeeeeeeeeeeee_—"I flipped myself out of my chair, landing with a loud _thud_ on the floor.

I groaned loudly, taking a deep breath before yelling, "I'm coming, I'm coming, god!" and smoothly cutting off the annoying noise that came out of both their mouths when they talked. I tromped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, until I realized something. "Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit." I turned on my heel, sprinted down the stairs and ran to get my mom's outfit. I quickly ironed it (in two minutes- that takes some fucking skill) and ran back up to her room. I barged in through the door, making the latter object hit the wall with a loud noise, causing my mom to squeak. I spared myself a snort before I laid her outfit out on the regular bathroom, mumbling my apologies, before running over to the twins closet and grabbing two outfits at random.

I ran into each of the respective bathrooms, placing the two outfits on the separate counters and flipping both the girls off, and then running downstairs and making a pot of coffee. As soon as it was done, I drank as much as I could handle—god knows I'd need it.

I set the mug down after I had drained it, and slumped into a chair. Dammit, I fell asleep. I slammed my fist into the closest wall, wincing when it came back bloody and bruised.

Focus, Max. Focus.

I need to clean the ballroom. Then the dining room. Then I can go to school. I nodded my head decisively. Ballroom, dining room and then school. I ran back to the ballroom and started mopping the floor, watching the clock carefully. I only stopped once, when I remember I had to make waffles (destined to be slightly burned, because it's me here, remember?), but then I was right back to it, mopping with a speed that would've scared anyone near me. Even the cat wouldn't come inside the room, and usually she's all over the mop (it's like, tons of yarn, attached to one big string!)

By the time I was done with the ballroom, Ella and Lissa were leaving for school, waving goodbye to me with their sickly sweet smiles on their faces, and their tiny skirts and low cut shirts on the rest of them. Well, no, that's not an accurate description, because the skirts and shirts only covered about none of them, not the rest.

But still. The point remains.

"Bye Maxie maid, have fun cleaning." With a lame wave of her hand, Ella pranced outside in some huge heels—how could she walk in those things?

"I'd like some lamb, for dinner." A smile graced Lissa's face, but it soon turned into a sneer. "That's not a request."

Now, I was annoyed. Not only did no sleep + a full day of cleaning + step family = cranky Max, but this was just too much. I leaned on the handle of my mop coolly, carefully not to push hard enough on it so that it slid across the floor and deposited me in a heap, and stared at Lissa, raising my eyebrows. "How about . . . no? You know as well as me that I can't cook, so you're going to take what I give you." I raised my eyebrow higher, giving her a pointed look. "Which is going to be pre-made chicken, frozen cake, and salad." With that, I began to clean up my supplies from cleaning the ballroom.

Lissa stood and looked at me with the face of a person who just witnessed a shocking event—which, I'm sure, she did. Me saying no to her was a rare occurrence, since she usually told Mom, and then I was in heaps of trouble. I finish piling all my supplies onto the cart before I turned back to her. "So . . . shoo." I made a shooing motion, in no mood to deal with her right now. She looked around, made some odd blubbering noise, stomped her foot once as she let out a small shriek, and then left. I thanked god she had, but mentally slapped myself—I was going to be in for it tomorrow.

I headed over to the dining room—that part was fairly straightforward, simply cleaning the table and arranging the chairs in a certain way, setting the table, stuff like that. It only took about an hour, and after taking a quick shower and grabbing my bag, as well as my wallet so that I could go to the grocery store, I jogged outside and got on my bike. Not my motorcycle, but my actual bike—the motorcycle was faster, but I was going to the grocery store after school. Trust me—you only take your groceries on a motorcycle once before you learn never to do it again. (The bag flew out of my hand and onto the car behind me. They were pissed, to say the least.)

When I reached the school, I glanced at my watch—it said it was about eleven thirty, so I decided that (assuming that each period was about an hour long, give or take, and considering that school started at eight, but mostly using the fact that lunch was at twelve) I should probably head to Geometry. I parked and locked my bike on the bike rack, carefully checking and rechecking the lock—I'd had my bike stolen before, and walking home in the rain is not fun. (Now that I think about it, biking home in the rain would've been pretty bad, too.)

I pushed open the double doors and entered the sickly yellow building—I thanked god that Ms. Smiley was gone today, because, as we have gone over, Max + No Sleep = Cranky Max. And; Max + No Sleep + Tons of Chores = Very Angry Max. If she had started talking to me, I probably wasn't going to stop and listen. And that would mean a detention, which would mean that I couldn't go grocery shopping later, or finish cleaning, so . . . yeah.

I hunted through the halls (trying to avoid looking anywhere but my nice _white _piece of paper, to no avail) until I found a room labeled 107. It was almost clear across the school, nowhere near the rest of the hundreds. With a snort, I pocketed my paper slip and opened the door to the Geometry classroom. Mr. Adam Crochet, a balding man in his forties, was pointing at some crazy equation on the board. He stopped when I entered, and turned to look at me. I gave him a halfhearted wave, leaning against the wall and yawning. "Sorry I'm late, I hit some . . . traffic." I gave a small snort—my stepmom could be considered traffic, right? She was a bad driver, either way.

Mr. Crochet stares me down, drumming his finger on the table. "I suppose that is acceptable, although this type of behavior and lateness is frowned upon at Yenly." I rolled my eyes—I'd heard this every day so far, damn uptight people. "You may take your seat, Miss. . ." He glanced down at his paper quickly, and I snorted softly. "Ah, Miss Ride." I took my seat, and although I took out my books, I didn't pay attention to what he was saying. I took the time to catch up on some much needed rest—I did the same thing in the next class, History. I would've done the same thing in cooking, too, but the teacher made me help Iggy—I guess she figured that there wouldn't be a way to burn anything that way.

Iggy started to cook, shooing me away from his workspace the second I stepped over. Despite my resolve to not make friends, I had to crack a smile at him—he wasn't that bad, from what I knew of him. As I watched Iggy cook, I narrowed my eyes, a thought striking me. Maybe . . . well, it was at least worth a try. I looked up to Iggy, putting on my pleading face. "Hey, Iggy?" He turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, Max?" he folded his arms, as if he knew I wanted something.

I hesitated for a second before I asked, taking a deep breath and then saying, "I have a lot to do tonight, and I promised someone I'd bring them dinner. Wanna, um, maybe cook me some awesome tasty dinner so I don't feel bad?" I ended my sentence with a big grin. "Pretty please?" His eyes narrowed, and I could see him considering.

To me, though, this was more than just a favor—it was a test of sorts, too. A few of the places I've been, I've made friends and been ripped from them once we got really close. The majority of the places, though, I made friends who I didn't trust, and who constantly let me down. If Iggy wanted to be my friend so bad, he could live up to my standards—and doing a blind favor for someone was a good way to build my trust, or to show me his character. "Fine."

I blinded, shocked out of my daze, looking back up at him. "What?"

He rolled his eyes, a small grin as he looked down at me. "I said fine, I'll do it." I grinned, about to attack him with a hug, before he pointed his finger at me and said, "One condition, though—you hang out with me at lunch tomorrow." I laughed, grinning, and now I did hug him.

"Sure, Ig. Thank you!" He patted my back awkwardly before pushing me away.

"Now, get away from me. The chef's cooking." He shooed me out of his space as I laughed, and I sat over in a corner and watched him cook, my face in a smile the whole time.

I had just finished laying the dinner out on the table when I heard the door, and I quickly yelled to the rest of my 'family' to get their lazy asses down here (but in a nicer way, of course). I answered the door with a fake smile plastered on my face, keeping my head down and staying mostly hidden behind the door.

"Oh, my god! Your house is _so _beautiful! I loved it when I first saw it, but the inside is even more spectacular! Ooh, I just love the pillars, and the color scheme, and everything! It's all so wonderful—I wish our house was this cool, it's pretty drab. But—"

As I stood there reeling, a hand snaked out and covered the girls mouth—she had dark skin and crazy hair, and I remember her from school as Nudge. "Oooh, hi Max! Why're you here?" I smiled a little at her, shaking my head as I noticed Iggy with wide eyes behind her.

"I live here, Nudge." I stepped aside, allowing Nudge, Iggy, two people I assumed were their parents, and two other kids I didn't know enter the house. Iggy was watching me carefully, and I tried to slip away without being noticed.

"Ah, company!" My step mom swept down the stairs and into the hall, smiling at the guests. Iggy and Nudge were both distracted by her gaudy orange dress and bright yellow earrings, and I took the opportunity to slip away back to my room. And there I stayed, for the majority of the night. I came down once, to get a glass of water, and heard Iggy asking about me.

"Where's Max?" he asked Lissa, frowning as she all but sat in his lap. He gently pushed her away, sighing.

Lissa, not knowing my nickname, just shook her head. "Who?"

It was midnight before everyone was gone, and I was all but passed out on my bed. I tromped downstairs dutifully and cleared away the dishes, plopping them in the sink for another time. All I wanted to do now was sleep—and sleep I did. As soon as I was in bed, I was out like a light.

* * *

**What'd you all think? Let me know in a REVIEW! You guys know that half the reason I write is because I love to write, and the other half is for you guys, and to know what you think! And extra props because this was the longest chapter yet, woot!**

**Congratulations to my 100****th**** reviewer, MaximumRideFanAddict! You get . . . a high five and a pimp cape! (Because, really, what could be better.)**

**Also, thanks to my new and fabulous beta! (Seriously. ILU.) **

**I want everyone to go to my profile, scroll down, and read the latest update I have there, because I need YOUR opinions! Yes, you, you special person right there!**


	4. Chapter Four

**This is where the story really starts to go into the more Cinderell-y stuff, so woohoo for that! Also, I expect this story to be in the ten-to-fifteen chapters range, give or take. It depends largely on whether or not I decide to do an after-ball type twist thing, which will add on a good amount of chapters, possibly. Or a small epilogue. Or both? I'm not so sure, so just go with that not-really-an-explination explanation xD**

**I've got two new story ideas, one which I need an opinion on- read more about that in the second AN.**

**Sorry this chapters so short- if I had made it longer, it's would've taken me another couple of weeks. I have everything planned out of what segments need to go together, and the next segment is pretty long, so you get a short chapter, and then a super long one.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Maximum Ride or Cinderella. (BTW, the first Cinderella story was about some chick named Rhodophis. It was Egyptian, and the first fairytale ever created. Fun Fact of the Day!)**

**Mmph, I don't like this chapter that much heh. I just. . . wasn't feeling it, umph.**

**ALSO, you guys are welcome to ask me any questions you like, whether or not they pertain to the story, because I'll answer basically anything.**

* * *

Max POV

". . . and that guy is Eric, he's not really that hot, but he's okay. I mean, I like his hair, but he uses _way_ to much gel in it, so it kinda smells bad. Like, all the time. _All _the time. And that's never good in a guy, because then if you hang around him enough, _you'll_ start smelling bad and that'll be horrible, you know? Because then you'd smell like fake hair and stuff. And you're obviously going to hang around him a lot because, duh, he's your boyfriend and why _wouldn't _you? I mean, what's the point of having a boyfriend if you guys don't hang out at all? Anyways, he's only like a six, because of his whole hair thing _and_ because he's more shrimpy than muscly, and that's not really that cool with me, because I like muscly guys, not shrimps. I mean, shrimps aren't bad or anything, But still, he's kinda hot, at least."

I laid my head on the cool metal table in the middle of the cafeteria and stared wide-eyed at Nudge. She'd been talking like this for over a half-hour, pointing out every guy that passed and giving me the pros and cons of each. Sadly, we had a table right next to the entrance to the cafeteria, and the smell of the pizza was driving in flocks of people. Mainly boy. Oh, how lucky am I.

I think she's only taken about ten breaks to breathe the whole time she's been talking and I, personally, am about to die from bloodloss, because I swear that my ears are _bleeding, _and have been for the last thirty minutes. That's _just_ how much Nudge has been talking- Nudge is a friend of Iggy's, the girl that I met during PE, if you don't remember. How Iggy stands her, I don't know- her real name is Monique, but she told me to call her Nudge because 'all my friends tell me all it takes is a nudge to get me talking, so they call me Nudge!' (she told me that yesterday, but didn't seem to mind telling me again, or didn't remember. She also told me yesterday that she wasn't sure why people called her Nudge, but she seemed to readily have a reason today. Heh. Wait, I'm confusing myself. Didn't she tell me why yesterday, too?)Note to self: Remind me to cuss out Iggy later for making me sit with them.

"And that's Sam- he's, like, an eight. And totally available. And totally hot. I like his hair, and he doesn't use any product, so that's a total plus, 'cuz he smells good. But his eyes are pretty okay, too, because they're a pretty blue. I don't really like his clothes, much, because they're all basically the same thing in different colors, but they're good cuts and brand; He's still hot." At this she nodded vigorously, and looked at me as if to prove her point, and make sure I got it. Unfortunately, my eyes were closed, and I missed her undoubtedly big, brown-eyed look. "Max? Max? Oh my god, Iggy, I think Max is dead." She started to hyperventilate and flap her arms around wildly, getting louder every second. "Iggy? IGGY!" How I know she was flailing about? The subtle, but still quite noticeable, sounds of smacking, and grunt of pain from Iggy's direction were a pretty good indicator.

Nudge was continuing her mini panic attack, but Iggy saved me. "Nudge, I think she's just a little . . . worn out from your talking." I cracked an eye open in time to catch him shrug and poke me in the side. When I twitched and made to slap, him he nodded and danced out of the way of my incoming fist. "Yup, that's-"

He was cut off here, though, because Nudge squealed loudly and pointed. "Look Max, look!" I unwillingly opened my eyes to look where she was pointing. A tall boy with olive toned skin and hair that black like silk and fell into a curtain in front of his face stood in the lunch line, getting his pizza. (Cheese, if you were wondering.) The one of his eyes that I could see as he turned to walk past our table to his table was a deep black pool that swirled with mystery. His face was a mask of no emotion as he walked to a table across the way where my step-sisters sat with some other people, hands shoved deep into his pockets and walking tall. All the girls he passed stopped and waved hi to him, and the ones that he responded to blushed and turned to their friends, giggling. One girl, with fire red hair, freckles all over her face, enough clothing on to barely make a napkin, and heels the size of my face, tapped his shoulder and waited while her turned so he was facing her—and me. He listened silently to what she was saying, nodding once in a while. As his eyes slipped over to the doorway, his eyes passed right over my head, and to Iggy. He excused himself from the girl, and headed over to us.

"Hey, Igs." He bumped fists with the blonde boy, and then glanced down at me. "Who's the tag along?" He turned to look at me, and smirked, tipping his head in acknowledgement. I glared at him as soon as he did so, and his smirk just grew. I recognized him as the kid from PE, the one who had beat me by a second. My eyes narrowed, shooting him a Glare of Doom. He didn't flinch, but simply shook his hair in front of his face.

"Max. We've met." I answered before Iggy could, still shooting lasers at him through my face.

"I know. The question was rhetorical." His smirk grew, and he turned away from me, facing Iggy. "I've got to go, but meeting after school." He nodded to Iggy, send a last smug smile my way, and traipsed on over to the table where my stepsisters- and now the red-haired wonder- were.

Then Nudge was shaking me. "Max, Max! ZOMG, _Fang _just _smirked _ at you." When I didn't seem to get it, just blinking at her, she went on. "Fang, like, the hottest guy ever? The richest guy ever? The all-around guy. . . ever?" I blinked—that last part didn't really make sense to me, but then again, this was Nudge; you never knew what to expect. "That's, like, huge!" she went on, stared wide-eyed at me, her mouth opened into an 'o' of shock. "He never shows any emotion, like, ever! And you just got a smirk!" I just wasn't' really getting it, but I shrugged and nodded to placate her. (That way, hopefully she'd stop talking sooner. Although, the chances of that are close to zero- why do I even bother trying?)

This, thought, didn't really seem to work out because Nudge started talking again. "Aaaaanyways, you should totally, like, talk to him! I mean, if he'll talk to you. " She furrowed her brow, looking down. "Hey, weren't you and him-" at that point she was cut off (thankfully) by her phone vibrating in her pocket. She looked at the screen for the caller ID, (some person named 'Angel') and said, "I have to take this, sorry!" before picking it up and wandered away, blabbering into the small device like her life depended upon it. I moved my hand up to scratch a pesky bugbite that had appeared on my face this morning, but instantly regretted it.

Remember how I told you that I sometimes rubbed my hands raw from all this cleaning? Well, this was one of those times. Not only did agitate my not even halfway healed wounds, but it allowed Iggy to see my bandaged hands. I had done my best through the day to keep my bandaged hands out of the way of his (or anyone's) sight, and up until this point I had been successful. Although Iggy wasn't really paying attention to me, staring at a point a bit above my head with an odd expression on his face, my wince of pain and loud swear of "Shit!" sure got his attention fast.

His eyes narrowed as they took in my carefully bandaged hands. ". . . what happened, Max?" His tone was carefully neutral. I could tell he was comparing my bandaged hands and my appearance (and then quick disappearance) at my step-moms house last night, trying to find an explanation that tied the two together somehow.

I was used to lying through my teeth about things that went on, so it came naturally to me to calmly roll out the answers that had worked countless times before. "I fell, scraped my hands up on the sidewalk. My mom insisted that I bandage them, because she's some freak about health and germs." I firmly focused on his eyebrows, not quite looking him in the eyes, but not looking purposefully away.

Iggy furrowed his brow, thinking. ". . . but you don't want them bandaged. You don't think it's necessary." I blinked at him, my eyes slipping down to actually meet his light blue eyes with my brown ones.

Cautiously I nodded my head. ". . . yeah, that's right. Why?"

After a second of hesitation and thought, Iggy finally spoke. "Why not take them off when she's not here? She'll never have to know. Besides, you don't seem like one to follow rules you don't agree with." The look in his eyes was challenging- and it made me freeze, and take a sharp intake of breath. Nobody had ever questioned me like this before- of course, why would they? They had all either trusted me or been to afraid to inquire more. Iggy, though, was too smart for that, or maybe way to stupid, and didn't seem to be afraid of me in the least.

"Because I'd feel bad." It was only thanks to my practice with the lies that I was able to keep my head straight. Admittedly, that answer was weak, but it worked. "I'll know, I mean." I added on at the end as an afterthought. My palms had begun to sweat- thanks to the gauze on my hands, he couldn't see.

Eyes still narrowed, Iggy nodded slowly. "Alright, Max." He stood, suddenly, and picked up his bag. "Sorry to ditch you like this, but I should be going- not that I don't want to hang around, but I have a class soon." He made a face down at me. "Trig, bleh." His nose wrinkled, he continued on as he walked away. "Hate the teacher, he smells like salami and gumballs." I snorted lightly, watching as he gave me one last calculating look before heading off to his class.

As soon as he was out of sight, I groaned, returning to my original position with my head on the table.

* * *

**_SEX_**

**Now that I have your attention, all of the following AN is rather important, so go ahead and read it. kThanks!  
**

**(ALSO, you guys are welcome to ask me any questions you like, whether or not they pertain to the story, because I'll answer basically anything.)**

**I have two new story ideas, and expect at least one chapter of each to be up sometime within the next three weeks. But, knowing me, that's /probably/ not going to happen, but I promise I'll try my best! (woot woot!)**

**Now, I need help deciding on this. I have an original idea that I've been sitting on for a while- only problem is that it's based on music (song fic) so I couldn't find a way to produce it into a novel, what with all the songs I'd need to get the go-ahead to use from the artist before I could. Two problems- the first is that I might not be able to part with my original character for Max (because I had this all planned out before I thought about making it a fic.). Second is that it's going to be stretching the boundaries of what I could do with Maximum Ride. Time to answer two questions for me, either in a PM or in your review! (you know you're secretly excited)**

**Firstly, if I published the /original/ story (with my own characters) would you guys be interested in reading it if I posted it on fictionpress?**

**Secondly, would you be interested in that if I posted it on here /with/ all the MR characters? **

**Thirdly, there's a poll on my page that YOU NEED TO GO VOTE ON for your favorite ideas. :D**

**-So, I brought home my water polo ball, and was pumping it (which just means that when you move your arm back to throw, you move your elbow and your wrist like you would throw the ball, but instead of following through, you just set it back down with your wrist) all day long, and my dog comes over and thinks it hers. So now, I walk around the house pumping the ball and my dog just walks after me staring at it.**

**Review Response Time!**

**-MydniteShadow1996  
Angel comes in a bit in this chapter, and a bit more in the next few, but she'll be here! She's not a main-role character in this story, though. Iggy's not blind, but I'm considering having him go blind, though that unlikely. No wings, for sure- this is an AH story. **

**Gleeker67-  
Thanks! **

**Tri-Sierra-Tops-  
Firstly, I love your username xD  
Secondly; Thanks you! Ella's mean because Brigid has a. . . special role in this story. (I ain't tellin'!)**

**xXjaziXx-  
FAH I love that idea jieoijewfjejo I AM USING THAT as object ONE, BRO.  
-you get a high five and a sticker. Go you!-**

**Anna Ride-  
I'm going to use this as object TWO, congrats!  
-cake or a cookie? Your pick.-**

**iADOREyoy-  
Okay, this is going to be long xD  
First, let me start of by saying you're absolutely right- I should update a hell of a lot faster. I love all my reviewers, because I write this story for them. Having said this, though, I am an /extremely/ busy person. I have waterpolo practice from 4:30 until 7:00pm everyday except Sunday, (fun fact! I burn up to 4,500 calories a day!) and games most weekends and some weekdays. I have six classes, and go to a school that's famous (around the area) for the amount of homework that it gives. I keep two blogs, and am also the assistant stage manager for our schools play. In short, I'm booked. Whenever I have free time, I'm always at the computer. But, for me, writing is a fun thing, and something that I don't just give out when it's less than what I expect of myself, which is really why it takes so long. I try to go as fast as I can, but it does take a bit to long, and I agree with you on that. My new goal is an update a month, at the least- you have my express permission to nag me until I complete that. Deal?**

**Black Hawk1234-  
Thanks! I always love it when fellow writers like my works, it makes me feel like I've achieved that little something extra, you know?  
Hah, there's actually a funny story about my username- It was going to be Velvet Night, but when I searched it up (although there was nobody with the same name) there were a lot of Velvet something or others. I wanted the named to still be Velvet Night, but I wanted myself (and others) to be able to easily find me on search, so I added another 'e' into Velvet, and viola! Velevet Night was BORN!**

**Timmons1998-  
I went and looked at your story, and it's good! Although, one thing- don't take your worth from me, because no matter what I (or anyone) says, you're worthy.  
And than you for your kind words n_n they mean a lot to me.**

**Until next time guys, and. . .**

**REVIEW!**


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